To See Beyond
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: A demon pretending to be human and a psychic pretending to be normal cross paths. Tag to Firefly, episode 6 "Shindig". Prompted by the fun little interaction between River and Badger.


**To See Beyond**

He's been slumming for a while, playing the part, small and petty, a middleman. Until power and the ragtag following have expanded a bit more, he wants to stay out of the limelight, because even a single beam striking to draw attention his way on the game board could cost him dearly.

He has grown accustomed to being Badger, cruel and limited. The part is played to the hilt with a secret, gleeful satisfaction.

Standing in the middle of that insufferably loyal captain's ship, waiting on confirmation that an agreement had been secured for a nice bit of money, he could not have expected _her_.

She is frayed. Outside is uncanny grace, flowing movements, a girlish frame to match physical age. Outside, she is still young. Inside is a maelstrom. Strong, gleaming spider's silk stretching in all directions, flung and crafted into patterns that hinted at elegant and incomprehensible mathematics. And through it all, someone has taken a hand and torn. There are signs, increasing in frequency, of attempts to re-drape and tie the strands, remake the web to suit another's purpose. It has been poorly done.

He peers deeper, intrigued, puzzling away, searching and parting the threads without touching, wanting to discover what glow sits tethered and encased at the core. Then he brushes aside a clump of silver knots and rears back.

Understanding dawns in a furious flash. There is a bargain struck between mother and darkness. There is a gift birthed in the guise of a human child. There is a taste of copper, a scent of sulfur, and a mortal girl given demonic power to be one day manifest.

Lucifer's true vessel may be long dead, and the father of Hell remains trapped eternally in a cage with Michael, God's Sword and Shield and Warrior, but that won't stop idiot demons from flocking to his name. Someone is trying to recreate what old Yellow Eyes died for - a spat of psychic children with demon blood in their veins. No matter that this same campaign had failed centuries ago, there was always a damned soul slow or rapturous enough to attempt at revising an old failure.

And the combination of unearthly talents, a superior mind and whatever tortures hidden beneath the monicker of "tests" were carried out on her, led to her current state; this girl was destroyed. The warm ball of steel and sunshine in the drowned heart remained, but the rest was a loss. She would never achieve the potential to which she had first been born.

… …

She considered this unknown entity invading her lovely, dancing ship, and she perceived, seeing beyond the comfortable reality.

A former king, it had reigned in a place of fire and brimstone and terror. And indeed, this mass of self-satisfaction and evil was an _it_. Once, perhaps, human, but no more. Too caught up, too pleased with the destruction and cruelty.

A long time this black spirit had clung to existence, despite all odds. A beuracrat with immeasurable power, until the last sweep of his burning kingdom by an angry force, too focused on freeing their former lord and father to understand that the first evil would not thank them.

This one, though, saw beyond the hope of controlling the 'verse under the leadership of the Morning Star. This old ghost, singed and beaten and still unbroken, could recognize the hatred of the Bright One against his creations. Humanity first, demonkind second, and the angelic host perhaps a distant third. She thought she could comprehend that infecting need to lay waste to all, until none remained but an eldest son and the God whom he believed to be disloyal.

This creature, though, would do all to stall that triumphant return. This crossroads ruler hiding behind the mask of a woodland animal, long dead throughout the 'verse, was waiting. Glaciel patience to regain the throne, warring internally against the desire to crush those who dared act in opposition. The return of Crowley to Hell would be a horrible thing. Vengeance was not that of the Shepherd's "lord". Vengeance first bloomed in the hearts of men, and even those free of Hell, keeping ugly and shadowed visages hidden except in a glimpse of all-jet eye, could capture the idea and make it their own. And this thing embraced the concept with an unholy glee. The rebellion would be met with pitiless sufferings that would last millennia.

Truly, an interesting monster with which the girl had crossed paths.

… …

"Why ain't she talking? She got a secret?"

Ge ge tries to excuse. "No, I'm sure not-"

The girl sees the tease, the twinkle of recognition. They two are similar in all the wrong ways. She returns the strange association. "Sure, I got a secret. More'n one. Don't seem like I'd tell 'em to you, do it? Anyone off Dyton Colony know's better'n to talk to strangers.

"You're talkin' loud enough for the both of us, though, ain't you? I've known a dozen like you. Skipped off home early, minor graft jobs here and there. Spent some time in lock-down, I warrant… but less than you claim. Now you're, what? Petty thief with delusions of standing? Sad little king of a sad little hill."

He faked the surprise, the discomfort. Amusement was kept well-hidden, for all that some words were twisted truth. "Nice to see someone from the old homestead."

Sneering, the girl called River shook her head. "Not really. Call me if anyone interestin' shows up."

Striding away, saying goodbye without a word, she hears from behind the announcement by the evil masquerading as a man. "I like her."

And in the corner of her thoughts that reveled being taught the most efficient angle at which to swing a blade, the level of force placed behind each blow and kick, the trajectory of a compact metal bullet, she is cruelly pleased.

She will protect her family, her crew. Beyond that, the girl does not care if they must watch the 'verse burn.


End file.
